Glimpses
by redsneakers
Summary: A series of oneshots so always marked 'complete' with the POV of BellaMione's future child OC . Mostly fluff with hints of angst and comedy at times.
1. The Sorting

**A/N: Hello again, my dear friends. Thank you very much for those who have left very kind words on my last story – despite it having a lot of flaws and stuff. The reviews mean a lot to me :) **

**Anyway, here's my next story, which will be a series (I hope) of oneshots. It will still use Bellatrix and Hermione's future child POV, and even though it focuses heavily on what is going on around the child, I think I managed to throw some BellaMione in it. **

**It is an AU story, set around 19 years after the last battle and takes place somewhere at the beginning of my previous story "Light and Dark". You don't have to read that one to understand this, I guess – but of course I won't pass up a chance to shamelessly pimping my story ;) **

**The story is still unbeta-ed and therefore I expect grammatical mistakes in it. Please be kind to point the mistakes to me and I will be very happy to fix them. **

**And here's the compulsory disclaimer: It's not mine, I just like playing with other people's food. **

**So I suppose I have to just shut up and let you take the ride. Have a good ride :)**

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**The Sorting**

I am fidgeting, literally fidgeting – and I _don't_ usually fidget, as I am following my fellow classmates, the First Years, to the Great Hall of Hogwarts. I am paying no attention at all to the details and majestic design of my surrounding as I walk; the chatters around me seem to fall to the background of my brain, drowned by the sound of my own thoughts.

Feeling a clammy hand slip into my own, I glance up to see the owner of the pale hand holding mine and see a pair of blue eyes looking at me worriedly as if searching for comfort. Hugo Weasley looks paler than usual and I'm kind of worried that he's going to faint – or worse, be sick all over me like he did back on the picnic when we were younger. I give him a smile, crooked as I'm nervous as well, but it seems to calm him down.

"I'm scared, Dru," he whispers quietly, "Dad'll kill me if I'm not in Gryffindor."

I squeeze his hand and try to fight the urge to roll my eyes at his last comment. With two Gryffindors as parents? His chance of being sorted into other Houses other than the lion's den is slim to none (although it's not a guarantee, as Mama always tells me, but there's no need adding his misery now as much as I'd love to see him squirm). "You'll be fine. Just don't look around," I suggest. I see him nod from the corner of my eyes and he hangs his head low, never letting go of my hand.

I, being my mothers' daughter, am not really good at following suggestions even if I am the one who make the suggestion. So I do the stupidest thing in the world – I look around. My eyes first land on the far left table, where I see James Potter and he begins to stand up and wave frantically to grab my and his cousin's attention when he sees us. I ignore him and turn my head to the other side of the hall. I spot my Nephew Scorpius sitting among his friends at what I suppose is Slytherin table but he doesn't seem to see me.

When my eyes land to the teacher's table it's not difficult to spot my mothers – I'd recognise them anywhere; they are sitting side by side at one end of the table, chatting idly with each other. Mama – I mean, Professor Granger (I forget about our deal for a second here) – sees me first; she nudges at Mother before smiling at me and suddenly my world seems a bit brighter. She is magical that way, my Mama is. Professor Black winks at me and I feel myself blush. I look around to see if anyone noticed, but I think everyone is too caught up with what the Headmistress has to say at that moment.

Headmistress McGonagall speaks for what seems like forever before the sorting begins. My heart begins to thump louder against my ribcage as she calls out the names of children. I almost curse Mother for having a name with the second alphabet as the initial when I hear my name being called.

"Druella Black," the Headmistress' voice rings across the hall.

For a second I can't move but I manage to catch myself and walk forward. Headmistress McGonagall looks a lot older than I've imagined before, I contemplate as she ushers me to a high stool. She catches my eyes and there's a gleam in her eyes – recognition that is beyond a surname, perhaps, since I look a lot like Mother – before she puts the hat on me.

...

"Oh another Black," the Hat suddenly speaks _in my head!_ "You people never stop breeding, do you?"

I ignore that comment but roll my eyes nonetheless; I am not going to add 'arguing with a hat-that-speaks-in-my-head' to the ever growing list of my stupidity.

"Now, now, let's see what you've got here" the Hat proceeds, "You've certainly got your mother's blood and talent inside you."

"Which mother?" I scoff sarcastically.

"Ah, a feisty one – I like it. Fine, _both mothers,_ if it pleases you. Now sit still for a second and stop that brain of yours from squirming so much; I'm getting too old for this. I see–.. interesting. Your Black blood pumps into your heart, child, and it _yearn_ to go to Slytherin just like every noble member of your House Black does – save one whom I sent to Gryffindor."

There's a smile on my face now. A proper house for the youngest Black – Mother will be proud. However, the next thing the Hat says bursts my bubble.

"Hmm... how peculiar; Slytherin is not where you are meant to be."

My heart sinks a little – only a little, because it only means one thing. "Gryffindor then?" I whisper with every ounce of hope I have left. When the Hat keeps its silence I begin to dread the worst – that it will announce that this is a mistake and that I, Druella Black, am a Squib.

"You're not a Squib. Now stop interrupting me," replies the Hat as it reads my mind, "There is a lion roaring in you but I have to say that Gryffindor is not for you, either."

"I can't _not_ be in either two!" I plead desperately.

"The blood says Slytherin and the heart is torn between the lion and the serpent – but it is clear that the head belongs to something else. You are destined great thing in your future; however, it won't happen lest you are surrounded who share the same thirst and longing as yours. And Black, you are the first of your blood so smile a little and let's welcome you to RAVENCLAW!"

The last part is shouted to the hall, I'm sure, since I hear a loud applause erupt from one of the four tables – _Ravenclaw _table.

Professor McGonagall takes the hat off me. I can see confusion and surprise in her eyes but she only offers congratulation as I jump off the stool and walk to my table, smiling weakly as everyone pats me on the back and offers their hands as a welcome gesture.

I can feel several pairs of eyes on me but I avoid them all. The Potters and Weasleys must be looking at me with pity; Nephew Scorpius will be smirking – oh I can imagine what he is going to write his grandparents first thing in the morning: "_Dear Grandpa Lucius, our little Aunt Dru is a raven. A Black who is not in Slytherin – isn't that some news?_". I grit my teeth at the thought.

And then there are my mothers. Thinking about them makes me feel bile forming at the back of my throat, blocking my airway. Mother must be beyond displeased. I'm her only daughter and I fail to live up to her expectation to be a respectable Black. And Mama; I know that I've disappointed her too. She is never hard to please but it doesn't mean that she doesn't have expectations on me. A daughter of a lion and a serpent in Ravenclaw – how very unfitting.

As the sorting continues, I feel my heart get heavier at every name that belongs to either Slytherin or Gryffindor – that should have been me, I think bitterly. I look up when I hear Hugo's name being called. The Hat only touches his hair less than five seconds when it shouts Gryffindor for all to hear. And that's it – my last straw.

I scramble on my feet and find a girl Prefect – I still don't remember her name.

"What is it?" she whispers worriedly, "Are you ill? You look so pale."

I shake my head. "I just need to go to the rest room," I make a feeble excuse. She nods and directs me there, telling me to be back quickly before dinner is over. I mumble my thanks and scramble out of the Hall. I need to be alone.

Before I've walked too far away from the Hall, I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around and instinctively raise my wand (a silly motion, really, since I can't defend myself properly with it yet) but then I find my Mama standing behind me. I lower my wand.

"Dru, are you alright?" she asks in that loving tone that makes the dam in me begin to crumble. I run to her and bury my head in her chest as the first tears begin to fall. "Sweetie, what's the matter?" Mama rocks me back and forth in her arms, making soothing circle on my back with her hand. "Dru, sweetheart, are you ill?"

"I'm sorry," I cry.

"Sorry for what?"

How can she ask me that? Sorry for what? Doesn't see understand? I've failed her – I've failed them both. Her question only adds fuel to the fire and I sob even harder. It takes me a moment to realise that we are no longer alone. I stiffen in Mama's arms before I recognise the sharp click of boots against the floor. When the clicking stops and Mother is looming over us, I close my eyes tightly and bury my head even further to Mama's robe, not wanting Mother to see me.

"Oh, little _raven_ is crying," Mother drawls lazily in a mock tone.

"Bella," Mama warns her in a sombre tone and I know that she is giving Mother a look.

I hear the rustle of Mother's dress as she sits next to us on the floor and sighs audibly. She surprises me when she takes me from Mama's arms into her own embrace before placing me on her lap.

"Upset, are we?" she enquires using a tone that is closer to a statement than a question. I nod silently, fiddling with the hem of her black dress instead of looking at her. "Well, look at the bright side, little bird," she goes on cutting to the chase as if knowing what is bothering me, "at least you're not in Hufflepuff."

"Bella!"

"What?" Mother sounds offended. "It's true. If she isn't a Slytherin or a Gryffindor, then being a Ravenclaw is the last viable option. At least it shows that she's smart enough to be among those birds. Aren't I lenient enough?"

"You're incorrigible," Mama admonishes with a chuckle, swatting Mother on her upper arm in jest. "Don't listen to your mother, Dru."

"Which mother?" Mother and I ask in unison and Mama rolls her eyes.

I tilt my head so I can see Mother better. "You're not mad I'm not in Slytherin?"

"Well–.." she pauses, exchanging a look with Mama before she continues, "there's always the first time for everything, isn't there?"

"You're not going to cut me off the family tree?"

"Why on earth would I do that?" she sounds genuinely surprised. Again, she glances at Mama but it seems that Mama urges her to deal with me this time. "Who fed you that moronic idea?"

I shrug. "The Hat did say that every noble Black belongs in Slytherin," I point out.

"And you believe a smelly old hat instead of us – your own mothers?" Mother sighs when I give her no reply. "Look at me," she says. For what seems like a long time, we only stare at each other's eyes – dark against dark – and she says nothing. When she speaks again, though, her words touch me to the core. "I'm proud of you, Druella. I don't care what House you are in – I will never love you any less. It's just a House; just be your best and that's all that I ask of you."

This, coming from Mother, means a lot to me. It's not that Mama's opinion isn't as important but she is different. Mama is always all about showing her feelings, showering me with praises and love, all about supporting me. I know that she will accept me whatever I do and whoever I become. Mother is something else; she is always the first person to rebuke me should I do something wrong. A word of praise rarely comes from her because in her book, as a descendant of Black I am bound to do everything perfectly on the first try.

Mother practically renders me speechless this time – this says a great deal, really, because I am pretty eloquent in general. I can't even find a word when Mama kisses me and tells me how she is also proud of me and that she's glad that I am a Ravenclaw (she told me that the Hat wanted her to be in Ravenclaw before changing its mind back when she started school, so maybe it _does_ run in the family after all).

"Of course, if you happened to be sorted into Hufflepuff, the idea of cutting you off the family tree is somewhat appealing," Mother, of course, has to add. It earns her another glare from Mama and a smile from me. She is only joking – her eyes tell me so. "Now go back to the Hall before I take your House points for making me starve."

"Yes, Professor," I respond. It feels like all my burdens have evaporated into thin air. I wave at them then run back to the Great Hall, leaving the two behind me. The Headmistress has just begun her speech when I squeeze myself between two First Years at the table – Ravenclaw table, _my_ House.

The school year has just begun and I'm going to make the best of it.

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**I hope the ride wasn't too bumpy *hands out handmade nuttela brownies for those who are traumatised***


	2. The Stigma

**A/N: Hey guys! This is a new (and quite a long) chapter. I don't know what came over my mind when I wrote this, but what's done is done so I'm just going to throw this out in the open and hope it doesn't suck. **

**It still takes Dru's POV in this chapter. A little angsty, and most probably will leave you frown after reading. I have another one with lighter story and it took me a while to decide which I want to post first.**

**Thank you for those who have read and reviewed the first chapter. You're all my sunshine on a rainy day (not that it's been raining here for the past couple of weeks but, well, you know what I mean).**

**Again, this is an unbeta-ed work. I try to self-edit but I'm not perfect and my silly brain seems to refuse that yours truly is capable of making mistakes. So, good ladies, if you happen to come across any mistakes, please be kind and point it out to me. I shall be forever obliged. *bows***

**Disclaimer: I'm still playing with other people's food.**

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Being a Ravenclaw has its own quirks. For instance, we birds don't care about our ancestry – be it Muggle-born, Pure Blood, or Half Blood – we simply just don't give a thought about it. Unlike other Houses, our social status is laid upon our intelligence rather than family ties. Ravenclaws don't care whether you come from the purest, noblest, oldest family in wizarding history or if you happen to come from the dirtiest, poorest slum in Muggle society; anything is looked over as long as you don't flunk your exams – when that's the case then please welcome yourself at the bottom of our food chain.

As Ravenclaws, somehow we're bound to be chummy with Hufflepuffs – they're very friendly people, get in a little bit of rivalry with Gryffindors – who happen to have some brains in them, and try to tolerate Slytherins at all matter –our seniors say that but for their magical blood they wouldn't even be considered into Hogwarts; but that is, of course, a subject of debate because I notice some smart serpents in my year.

It's only been a month since the beginning of the semester and to my surprise, I really feel at home here in Ravenclaw. I make friends with every boy and girl in my years and some of the seniors. Somehow along these four weeks they get the impression that I'm either a Muggle-born or have both Muggle-born parents. I don't know what gives them the idea – I suspect it is due the fact that I mentioned something about watching Muggle shows on television at times (well, Grandpa Granger loves his crickets) but maybe it's because I told them that I have two mothers and no father (apparently being raised by two mothers is not unusual in Muggle world and though it is not a subject to be frowned upon in Wizarding society, it is still considered new).

Frankly speaking, I find it weird to be thought as something less than a Black, especially because I spent my whole life being taught about what being a Black means by both my mothers – Mama only emphasises on how I should behave like a proper daughter of hers instead of an uneducated urchin, though. However, I don't find the need of correcting their view of my parentage. Like I said before, bloodline is the least of my concern in Ravenclaw.

It is a pity that other Houses do not share our opinion.

Now my friends and I are walking across the main hall to DADA class in a hurried stride. We don't want to be late for this class for Merlin only knows what Professor Black will do to students who are late – rumour has it the Professor sometimes uses latecomers as willing volunteers for the day's class object to practice various jinxes and hexes. None of us want to test if the rumour is true; we're too sensible for that.

A couple of feet away from our class, we come across a group of older Slytherin kids loitering in the hall, chatting idly. They notice us and point at us. My roommate, Susan Talley, nudges at me but I shake my head, silently warning her against running.

"Why, isn't it Druella Black!" one of them yells in mock tone. I glance, spotting a tall redhead girl, and groan inwardly. The girl is the person who I accidentally knocked down and spilt my pumpkin juice on the other day. _This is great_, I mutter. "Still not learning your lesson, I see. Doesn't your Muggle mummy teach you manners?"

I roll my eyes but keep my mouth shut. _It's not worth it, Dru_, I tell myself. I'm not going to fall into her trap and start a fight.

"Oh but it's not only _one_ mummy for her, do you know?" a boy cuts in – I take it he's on his third year, my Nephew Scorpius' classmate. "I heard she has _two_ mummies! Both Muggle-borns!" Laughter erupts from among them and I feel my face redden. I still say nothing though, keeping my head high as I continue walking. But then, _then_ he has to say it! "What is it like to have two Mudblood mummies, Black? Mud and mud, I wonder what it makes you then!"

I freeze on the spot on hearing that word – my mind flashes to Mama's left arm, to the silver scar on it – and I see red. Shoving all my books in Susan's hand, I draw my wand from under my robe and turn around. No one, I repeat – NO ONE insults my mothers and lives to see another day. I couldn't care less if this gets me into trouble or detention or even resulting in my being expelled from school. I have to get my revenge first.

"Oh, did I rub a soft spot?" the boy taunts as I storm toward him, not knowing what awaits next.

Just as I am about to reach him, a flash of silver and black moves past me and beats me to the boy. The next thing I hear is a pained grunt and a thud of body colliding against a brick wall. It takes me a second to realise who it is.

Scorpius Malfoy is holding the boy by his throat with one hand, pressing him hard to the wall. Scorpius' wand is pointed to the boy's nose and their faces are only inches away. "Don't," he hisses threateningly in a tone that is so much like Uncle Lucius when the man is angry, "you dare call her that again, _ever_!"

"Malfoy, what's your problem, mate?" the redhead girl calls out but Scorpius silences her with a glare. He returns his focus back on the boy in his grip.

"Do you understand me, Flint? Never!"

Flint has turned a shade of purple this moment due to the pressure on his throat but others are too stunned at the display to move and do something. He struggles vainly, hands clawing at an unrelenting Scorpius. As he tries to reply he chokes so he only manages to bob his head up and down frantically. My silver-haired Nephew holds him in that position for a moment longer to make sure that his words sink in before releasing his grip. He takes a step back and watches in disgust as his scared victim takes to his heels without looking back.

Scorpius shoots his fellow Slytherins a challenging glare for them to oppose him. Nobody says a word. Apparently he is quite a brawn among his friends – even though I can't say the same when we're at home. He then turns toward me, eyeing me up and down with anger still gleaming in his eyes – that, along with an unsaid concern that he can't verbally express for nobody in school knows about our family ties, save for the Potter and Weasley children.

I raise my head petulantly and stare back at his blue eyes in the same intensity as wrath still burns hot on my head.

We exchange angry glares at each other before he growls, "You owe me one, Black."

"I owe you nothing, Malfoy – if it hadn't been for your unnecessary interruption, I'd have handled him fine myself," I retort viciously.

"You ungrateful little–.." He doesn't have the chance to finish his sentence. A sharp voice interrupts us from behind me.

"What have we here?" Scorpius' head snaps up and I spin so quickly that my back bumps into his front. Professor Black is standing just a foot away with her hands on her hip, looking as bored as she can – there are no other students in sight, apparently her appearance is enough to scare them away. "Fighting, are we, Scorpius?" she asks as she saunters toward us with her predatory eyes fixed on the two of us.

"No, Professor," I mumble a reply.

"Pardon?" Her voice was smooth as velvet when she speaks the word but not without a dangerous aura that I never saw before. She shoots a glance at me and raises her eyebrows. "Am I talking to you, Miss Black?" she enquires in a low tone.

I shake my head, my cheeks begin to blush. "No, Professor, but I need to expla–.."

"Ah, ah, ah," she cuts me off lazily, waving a finger in front of me. "You don't need to do anything but try to control yourself and not speak unless spoken to. Mind your manners, Miss Black – I don't tolerate impertinence from my students," she rebukes.

I swallow hard, glaring at her angrily but keeping my mouth shut this time. Tears begin to force their way up to my eyes but I command them down. No way am I going to cry because of this. I'm a Black. I keep my gaze steadily at Mother as she diverts her attention toward her grand nephew.

"It's.. it's Flint, Professor. He called Black and her parents 'mudblood'," Scorpius stammers out. Professor Black's eyes darken for a moment but the darkness is gone a second later. There is a silent understanding exchanged among us three: we protect our own – a saying that Mother always emphasises. No matter how annoying our relatives are, they are family and no one harms family.

"I don't see Flint anywhere, boy," murmurs the Professor.

"I told him off," Scorpius states proudly, "I defended her."

A faint smirk forms at the corners of Professor Black's mouth. She pats Malfoy on the shoulder. "Such a gentleman, Scorpius, defending a damsel in distress. Twenty-five points for Slytherin for a genteel act of courage!"

My jaw nearly drops to the ground. Twenty-five points? For the House that just insult our family? Is she out of her mind? "I'm not a damsel in distress," I mutter under my breath.

Unfortunately for me, Mother has the sharpest hearing on earth. She hears what I just said. "What did you just say, Miss Black?" she fishes, "Do you realise how lucky you are that someone bothers to defend you? Show gratitude when gratitude is due. Ten points from Ravenclaw for showing insolence and lack of appreciation!"

"Wait–.. what?" I nearly yell, "Professor! That is not fair! I didn't ask Malfoy to help me – and I wasn't the one starting a fight!" For a moment there I forget that I'm not talking to the Mother who always comes to my defence; that we are not at home; that I'm facing Professor Black.

"Another five points for yelling at a teacher," she declares, looking down at me as if challenging me to protest. She hates it when I yell, she always says that only idiots yell to get their point across. "Oh, and since it seems that you are late to my class – make that another five from Ravenclaw." The dark professor waves a hand at Scorpius, telling him that he can go to his class.

She strolls to the class without even a glance at me and I follow behind her; my jaw is clamped and my fists curl into two balls so tightly that the nails dig into the flesh of my palm. Never in my life have I ever been this angry with my own mother, my idol.

"Sit down, Miss Black," she orders as I close the door behind us, "Scoot, now, before I change my mind and give you a detention."

I shoot her the last angry glower then storm to my seat next to Susan in the back row. I can feel eyes from people around me but I ignore them. I don't even pay attention to what the professor is saying in front of the class. How much I want to scream at her for treating me so unfairly. How much I want to hurt her for siding with the snakes instead of defending me – her own flesh and blood? I bite the inner of my cheek to stop me from crying. I am not going to cry.

Before the class ends, as usual Professor Black divides us into pairs to practice jinxes and counter-jinxes. Woe falls to the Gryffindor boy – Jordan or something – who partners me today. I'm still fuming in the head, still too occupied with the thought of revenge that I practically don't hold back. I'm merciless and he doesn't stand a chance against me and my anger. It's Professor Black herself who finally steps between us and disarms me with a spell when I somehow fail to recognise the boy's signal of yielding. I am panting hard and my face blushes from all the exertion.

"Class is over," Professor Back dismisses us; her eyes are trained on me. As everyone begins to collect their books and leaves the class, she calls me out. All hums and chatters die in an instant and all pairs of eyes are looking at me. "A word," she says.

I stay behind, standing with my back on the wall next to the door as every student who passes me offers a glance of sympathy – even a troll knows that 'a word' with Professor Black isn't exactly an experience of a lifetime. I apologise to Jordan (or is it George?) about earlier when he walks past me but he gives me a friendly smile and tells me all is forgiven.

When the last student has left the room, Professor Black flicks her wand from where she is sitting on her desk, right on the students' homework, and make the door closes. Another flick, and the latch fastens itself. I remain on my spot, holding my books with both hands in front of me. She gives another flick with her wand, mumbling a silencing spell on the room.

With this, I snap. All hell breaks loose as I drop my books, stride towards her, and begin screaming my head off. "How could you!" I yell to her face, by this time the tears I've been holding back fall freely from my eyes, "He insults me – you heard Scorpius – he insults you! He insults _Mama_! And what did you do? Instead of defending your family, you chose to reduce _my_ points? What is wrong with you, Mother? I can't believe you!"

Mother remains silent as I throw my tantrum, her expression unchanged. That stoic expression only leaves me even angrier than ever and I lose all my control. I feel the urge to hit something, to destroy something, to _hurt_ someone and before my mind even registers what I am doing, I've my wand already drawn. I point it at various objects in class – chairs, desks, practice dummy, everything – and begin to throw all the spells I've learnt at them, destroying everything in my path. I'm so angry that I can't even think anymore.

There is a tiny part of me – the logical part – that tells me how embarrassing I am, lashing out like this in front of her. It reminds me that Mother hates this kind of behaviour. I push the thought away. I don't care.

She stays quiet and I just can't stand the silence any longer. I toss my wand onto the floor with a clatter and lunge at Mother, projecting my anger physically with my fists now – using her as my punch bag.

Mother doesn't flinch when my fists make contact with her body over and over again; she simply stands there and lets me punch. After some time, she speaks coldly, "Are you done?"

The question slaps me into reality; it actually serves better purpose than if it was physically done. All the sudden the bout of anger evaporates in an instant leaving me powerless and weak to the bone. I sag to the floor like a sack of grain and sob, clutching my robe with both my hands, which has started to hurt from earlier. It is then when I hear her move.

I flinch involuntarily when her cool hands touch me but she doesn't relent. She circles my waist with her arm and hoists me up to her lap. I bury my head into her robe as I weep in shame and anger.

"You're being unfair," I croak hoarsely.

"I know," she whispers a reply.

Another drop of hot tear falls from my eye, burning my cheek along its trail. "I hate you," I say, knowing how untrue that was the moment the words leave my lips.

She exhales tiredly. "I know."

We stay in the same position for a while, her supporting my body with her arms and me hanging onto her as if for dear life. I still refuse to look at her – not because I'm afraid that she's going to be mad at me but because I dread to see disappointment in her eyes.

It is her next line – or maybe it is the way that she says it – that makes me finally look up. "I love you, sweetheart," she whispers; there's a crack in her voice. There are no tears in her eyes, but the dark eyes are filled with something so deep that it sends a stab of pang right in my heart – I learn it the hard way that I'm not the only one that's been hurt.

She's hurt, too. My strong and powerful mother is hurt too by the very word that has condemned Mama, her wife. Fresh tears begin to blur my view again and this time I cry for her – for every pain that the word has caused her and for the pain that my ignorance adds to the initial pain.

"Don't cry, Dru," she tells me. Without warning, my mind drifts somewhere to the past – the first time I saw her cry – and I can't bring myself to stop.

...

_We were in the study then; I was around five or six if I'm not mistaken. I was half asleep on the bear rug in front of the fire place as it was long past my bed time. _

_My mothers are on the sofa behind the bear rug. Mama's back was flushed against Mother's front as they were lying down – Mama had her eyes closed but she wasn't asleep. Mother had one arm draped across Mama's stomach, circling her waist as though keeping Mama from falling from the sofa while her fingers traced the seams of Mama's blouse. Her other hand was under Mama's head, used as a pillow. They wore the same expression on their faces – the unguarded one that they only put on when there is nobody else but us three. _

_I tilted my head to get a better look at them. The burning fire makes Mother's pale skin look almost translucent and Mama's tanned one glow. They looked so beautiful in this light – almost unreal, even. I hid my smile as Mother lowered her head and kissed Mama on the side of her mouth. Mama let out a contented sigh which, somehow, made my heart swell. _

_The only sound in the study was the fire cracking and the serenity lulled me deeper into sleep. Soon, my eyes began to droop close. _

_I wasn't aware of what made me awake again, but when I cracked my eyes open I saw that they already changed positions. Mama's back was fully on the sofa now. Mother was on top of her; her hand held Mama's left arm loosely in her grip and she was kissing the inner part of the arm. I closed my eyes again to sleep, not wanting to interrupt. _

_Before I fell asleep, though, I heard Mother's low voice whisper – there was urgency in her tone that even as a child I became alert. "I can make it disappear, Hermione," she said referring to something, "I can erase it."_

"_Bella," Mama sighed, "we've talked about this before. I don't want you to make it disappear."_

"_I still don't understand you," came the reply. _

_I risked a look and saw that by then Mama had had Mother's face cupped between her hands. "I told you before that it's a part of me; something that only serves as an endearment, like an old friend. Whatever it is you think, Bella, this doesn't hurt me the way it did – not anymore; not after everything that we've been through."_

_Mother shied away from the touch; her brow knitted in a tight knot between the bridges of her nose as if she was in great pain. "It wasn't an act of love and you know it perfectly. For Merlin's sake, Hermione, I meant the word to hurt you! I carved it in your arm to derogate you, to remind you of your place! I branded you – marked you!"_

"_And that you did, Bellatrix – you reminded me of my place; it's here, beside you. You branded me – marked me as your own and there is nothing I want to change about it!" Mama's voice was so calm that I was assured that they weren't having an argument. _

"_I beg to differ."_

_Mama shifted, propping her elbow to help her sit. "Why? Why do you insist on erasing it? Why is it such a big deal for you whether it stays or not? Darling, even if you remove it physically, it won't change the fact that it was there in the first place. Bella, that word doesn't define me."_

"_But it defines me!" Mother growls, trying her best to keep her voice low as not to wake me (well, I wasn't asleep but they didn't have to know that). "It defines who I was and it was a painful reminder of what kind of a monster I was before – it hurts! Every time I see it, all that I can see is how lost I was and how close I was to losing you to my own hands; I did that and I am ashamed of it and I'm hurt!"_

_The confession left Mama's mouth agape. There it was, her other half baring her soul for the world to see – for Mama to see. I watched as Mother hugged herself on the sofa and began to rock back and forth, lost to her own thoughts. _

_Mama reached out to her, placing her hand on Mother's chin and push upwards gently. "Bella," she called out tenderly, "Bella, sweetheart, please look at me."_

_Dark curls moved upwards as Mother lifted up her face. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears and I felt my heart being squeezed so tightly by an invisible hand when a lone tear broke free and rolled down Mother's pale cheek. _

_She was pulled into Mama's arms and Mama murmured something that I didn't quite catch. I managed to make the parts that she was sorry for not heeding Mother's feeling, for being so ignorant that she failed to see Mother's pain. _

"_I can't let you erase it, Bella. Like I always say to you; it's a part of me, and in some way it's a part of you too – a part of us and the life we have before."_

_Mother shook her head. "I still don't understand," she replies weakly. _

"_And I'm not going to force you to understand it now. I made my peace with it, and I'm going to do whatever it takes – no matter how long it takes – to help you make peace with it. Please, sweetie?"_

_I didn't remember falling asleep but the next thing I knew, I was in my parents' bed the next morning with them still asleep on my either sides. There were smiles on their faces. And when Mama shifted in her sleep, I saw it – the faint silver scar on her left arm, almost illegible. It was something that I was used to see until then but never bothered to think about. There in the sunlight, written in a childish handwriting on my Mama's arm was a word single word: _Mudblood_. _

...

"Words don't define you, Druella," Mother's even voice pulls me out of my train of thoughts.

"Sometimes they do," I counter stubbornly.

"They only do when you let them define you. Words don't hurt me anymore – at least words that don't come from you or Hermione."

"He called us Mudblood," I protest, relentless.

"But do you feel like one?" I didn't answer. She releases her hold on me so that she can take a better look at my face. Mother locks her gaze to mine. "Tell me, Dru, tell me who you are. Tell me who I am – who we all are."

"I'm a Black," I reply in a heartbeat. There's no doubt in that. "I'm a Black and so are you and Mama."

"There," she says, smiling in satisfaction. "As long as you know who you are, little raven, it's all that matters. Don't let others define you; define yourself. Do you understand me, Dru?"

"Yes, Mother," I respond.

She nods even though I know she knows that I don't fully understand what she is trying to convey. I'm still only a child, I suppose. She loosens her grip on me and we stand up. "Is there anything else you want to say, child?"

I worry my bottom lip before blurting out, "Am I getting my House points back?"

Mother throws her head back and laughs at my question. "Keep dreaming, Miss Black, keep dreaming," she teases. Then she sobers up. "As much as I want to protect you from the world, Druella, I can't be there for you forever. I meant what I said before – that you should give thanks when thanks is due. You didn't thank Scorpius, did you? And you did yell at me, your teacher. I can't tolerate that kind of behaviour – not from my student, especially not from my daughter. Just consider it a hard lesson, will you?

I nod reluctantly, knowing that she is not going to change her mind.

She takes a piece of parchment and scribbles something in it before giving it to me. "Here," she says in a serious Professor Black's voice, "give this to your teacher. Just tell them you got a detention from me. Now leave."

I take the parchment and walk to the door. When I have my hand on the handle, I turn around for the last time. "Mother," I begin. She waits. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. It won't happen again." With that I pull the door open and run to my next class without giving her a chance to respond.

Being a Ravenclaw is a privilege – here I learn that blood doesn't matter because it takes more than just crimson liquid running through my veins to define me. And being a Black is an honour – here I learn to know and be proud of who I am.

* * *

**There. I hope the ride is satisfactory enough *hands another basket of nutella brownies***

**Apology: Sorry for the lack of Bellamione in this chapter. I'm a bit biased because I love Bellatrix more than I do Hermione.**

**Note (this is purely random and quite long so feel free to just skip it): **

**I'd like to address about Dru's little tantrum in the story. A friend of mine, whom I sent this work before I posted it to, mentioned about not liking the way Dru lashed her anger physically at Bella. **

**Without trying to justify her action, I'd like to say that Dru is a child – an eleven-year-old who most probably never received an unfair treatment in her whole life. She was an only child, which would mean that she never had to fight for attention at home and basically never tasted the bitter part of sibling rivalry in which her parents did not take her side. As a parent, I think Bellatrix, being her, would spoil the child rotten in her own way that made Dru both respected and loved her. And Hermione with her loving personality would only give soft rebuke if the child made a mistake. Therefore it was quite understandable – although, as I said before, not justifiable – that Dru didn't know how to channel her anger properly. **

**School was Dru's first taste of the 'real world'. Here she had to learn that the world didn't revolve around her; that she wasn't the queen of everything and she had to learn to share the attention she didn't have to fight for before with hundreds of other students. And she did learn. She said it herself in the end – that she would not yell at her mother again. **

**Personally speaking, I don't like a child with a temper. I understand how difficult it is for a child to control their anger and channel it in a more positive way, but they will learn eventually. I'm a teacher and I happen to help my mother bring up my youngest sister (who is now 14) so I've experienced the tantrums and the lashing out firsthand. And yet, eventually they learn. Just like Dru.**

**Err.. I'm rambling again. And wow, it's a long ramble. Sorry, gonna stop now.**

**So, yeah, Miss Gb, who is really a sweetheart and brought this to my attention – I hope that it's quite clear on why I made Dru throw a tantrum like that. (And you know how typing a long answer on Blackberry Messenger sucks, don't you, dear?)**


	3. Between Good Intention and Stubborness

**Disclaimer: And then there's AJ, who enjoys playing with other people's food...**

**A/N: *jumps and waves frantically behind piles of workload* Hello, sweethearts! Here's me again. I actually have to either work or sleep but I take a few minutes break to post this now since I don't think I will have time to post anything in the next couple of weeks. **

**This chapter is set a year before Druella enters Hogwarts and we will only have Bellatrix and one of her sisters interacting with Dru this time because Hermione is off at Hogwarts teaching (I will explain this in future chapters so don't be mad if it's unclear, please? *puppy eyes*)**

**Anyway, the topic of this chapter is actually divided into two chapters so this is the first instalment. I'll post the other one in September (I guess you've guessed what prompt I got for this one). **

**Well, you know the drill: this is un-beta'ed, I desperately need a beta, and any stupid mistakes are mine so feel free to point it out. **

**Enjoy the ride, my good ladies and (probably) sirs (if there are any).**

* * *

I am almost toppled off my bed when a loud bang from downstairs wakes me up. The explosion is followed by an equally loud yell and I jump out of bed, struggling with the duvet that's tangled around my calves before I'm able to free myself in the end. I wait for a second before opening my door because I'm always warned to stay put in my room if something bad happens. My mothers have put enchantments that will prevent bad people from entering my room – not that it ever happens – and whatever happens, I'll be safe inside. But there is no other noise after the initial one, so I decide that I've nothing to worry about.

The house is silent, save from some faint noise that is far from the sound of fighting, and a whiff of something burning hits my nostrils as soon as I step outside my room. There's no one in sight (but of course, there are only me and Mother at home because Mama is at Hogwarts at the moment). I run across the hall, stopping only to check Mother's room – it's empty – before dashing downstairs.

Just as my feet reach the bottom of the stairs I notice that there is black smoke coming out of our dining hall. When I come closer, I hear Mother's voice and another female's from behind the semi closed door. I frown; Mama can't be home now – it's not even holiday and it's Mother's turn to stay home with me. I take a peek and see that Mother is cussing and the other woman is laughing. I push the door open.

There, in the middle of our dining hall, stand my very angry-looking Mother and my amused Aunt Andromeda. Next to them on the table is something that looks like a burnt plate, smoke still comes out of it. I wrinkle my nose as the smell is really bad. The two women spin around and when they see me, Mother's swearing dies instantly on her lips (she never swears in front of me, she doesn't even say 'bloody' or 'Merlin's beard' when I'm around!).

"Hi, Dru!" Aunt Andy beams at me merrily.

"Morning Aunt Andy," I greet her properly, walking farther into the room. "Good morning, Mother."

Mother's eyebrows knit into a burrow in the middle of her forehead. "Did we wake you up?" she questions. I shake my head no. From the look of it, she is having a real bad mood. I roll my eyes mentally – where's Mama when we need her?

"What happened?" I ask the both of them. Pointing at the table, I say, "What is _that_?"

For some reasons, my query amuses Aunt Andy a lot for she laughs out loudly without a warning. Mother throws her a dangerous scowl and begins muttering something of what I assume to be the sweariest swear words under her breath but it only makes her younger sister laughs harder, so hard so that she holds her stomach with both hands.

Confused of what seems to be the joke, I move closer to the table and climb on a chair. I lean in on the dark mahogany table, resting both elbows on the cool wooden surface to support my upper body, to take a closer look at the object in question. There, on the table, lies what seems to be (or used to be) our silverware with something that resembles a remnant of a cake dough – but I can't really tell since it's so black that in first glance I thought it to be a lump of molten coal.

I tilt my head up. "Mother," I wonder, looking at her with puzzlement, "what happened to the cake? Did you hex it?"

By now Aunt Andy has doubled up in laughter that she has to support herself on the back of a chair to keep her from falling down; tears falling from her eyes to her very flushed cheeks and she is shaking so hard I'm afraid she's going to hurt herself.

"Shut up, Dromeda!" Mother snaps darkly, glaring at me for asking her the question. Her sister covers her mouth with her hand immediately, tries to stifle her laughter as Mother flicks her wand to the plate. It vanishes into thin air in a blink.

"Mom?" I call her out again to make her answer me. I know she hates it when I call her 'Mom' instead of 'Mother', so I hope to get her attention by calling her that.

"What, Druella? No, what were you thinking? Of course I didn't hex the cake – are you out of your mind, goose?" she grumbles impatiently. Before I can ask more about the burnt plate, I feel her dark eyes fall on my clothes. "Why are you still in your pyjama? You don't expect to break your fast wearing only _that_, do you, now? Go back to your room this instant and get dressed, young lady," she orders before storming out of the room, closing the door behind her with a bit more force than necessary although she doesn't slam it completely.

Any attempt of protests telling her that she generally doesn't mind me having breakfast in pyjamas is going to be futile while she's in this mood so I mumble my reply to thin air and scurry out of the dining hall to change without even giving my aunt a second glance. I'm only a couple of steps away from the dining hall when I hear Aunt Andy calling me. She offers to help me get dressed. I'm ten years old this year and I'm old enough to dress myself, but I suppose she's just making an excuse to avoid angering Mother more, therefore I let her come along. Besides, I'm dying to know about what happened to the poor cake dough.

I let Aunt Andy hold my hand and we walk to my room. My Aunt Andy looks a lot like Mother in appearance, which also means that she looks a lot like me. But for her lighter hair that almost matches my own if hers were darker, Mother and Aunt Andy would look like twins. They are around the same height and they have matching dark eyes although hers aren't as big as Mother's. She is actually about three years younger than my mother, but somehow she has more grey hair than her older sister and the lines on her face are more prominent. I remember asking Mother about this once and she told me that Aunt Andy is way too serious, always thinks of things complicatedly, and that she has to bring up Nephew Teddy Lupin – who is totally hilarious to be around with but was apparently a bit of a handful as a boy. Mother also mentioned something about Aunt Andy not having Mama and me to keep her young.

Once we get into my room, I open the wardrobe with my mind – a trick that Mother taught me when I was five just after she and Mama found out that I can use magic – and rummage into it to find something to wear. Aunt Andy sits on the already made bed (I have to remember to thank Toffee, our house-elf, later. Mama will be displeased if I don't) and watches me as I change into a light dress.

"Nice choice," she compliments in passing and I smile my thanks. "You know, my daughter Dora didn't like wearing dresses as a little girl. She always preferred slacks better. Girls are pretty in dresses," she continues.

"Mama says girls are pretty in anything," I respond without really looking at her as I'm busy with the ribbon on my dress, "I just chose this because it's Mother's favourite and I think I need to be on her good side today."

She chuckles at my explanation. "Smart girl. And yes, Hermione is right – girls are pretty in anything," she agrees. Aunt Andy is fond of my Mama. They always spend time talking with each other when they meet.

After I'm done dressing, I climb up the bed and sit next to her. "So what happened to the cake?" I ask her. I think I've waited enough to deserve knowing.

Upon hearing my question, Aunt Andy laughs again. "Oh that," she manages to let out in between laughter, "Well, if you remember, sweetie, today is your Mama's birthday."

Oh. Right. I almost forget – but hey, when you are woken up by the sound of explosion, remembering someone's birthday is the least of your concern! At least I have a justifiable excuse. "Yes, so?"

She looks me in the eyes. "Promise me you are not going to tell your Mother I tell you this," she demands. I nod quickly. "Bella is going to kill me. Anyway, my stubborn sister wants to surprise Hermione by baking a birthday cake from scratch as a present. She owled me last night asking me to come and tutor her on how to bake because apparently buying a recipe book is beneath Bellatrix Black – please don't grow up to be so stubborn as your Mother, Dru darling – believe me, it's better to lean to your Granger blood on this," Aunt Andy pauses to catch her breath.

"She was doing really fine for a beginner and I have to admit that I was quite astonished to see her working on the dough as if she'd been spending her whole life in the kitchen. And then it was time for baking. Here was when everything went awry – your obstinate mother refused to use Muggle oven to bake her cake. She didn't even want to use wizard oven – she said the cake wouldn't have been hers if she had used any equipment. She insisted using magic to do it. For a second there I thought she'd have enough sense to send the dough to the elves to bake but, no. She decided to use her _wand_." My aunt shakes her head in disbelief. "Guess what spell she used? 'Incendio'. Of all fire-making spells in the world she had to choose _that_ one to bake a cake! And the best part is that she practically ruined one of her best silverware with her obstinacy!"

I can't help but laughing when she finishes retelling me what happened. On one hand, I understand Mother's unfamiliarity with Muggle equipment and her unwillingness to try. On the other hand, though, I just can't grasp how she is too headstrong for her own good – had she listened for once to Aunt Andy, this wouldn't have happened.

"Poor Mother," I remark.

"Why, poor cake," Aunt Andy replies, rolling her eyes as she speaks. She falls quiet for a moment then adds dreamily, "Her intention is noble, I've to confess. Oh, how much she must love your mother. I've never seen people still so in love with each other after almost twenty years together! Hermione makes Bella happy. I had never seen her so happy before she got into a relationship with her. We thought it was only a fling, me and Cissy. We are pretty realistic and we used to wonder what Bella had to offer to Hermione – but now I'm sure it's bound to last."

It seems that Aunt Andy has completely forgotten about my presence. She stares absent-mindedly at the wall, shaking her head and chuckling a little before she continues, "A birthday present–.. Bella never bothers giving me, Cissy, or anyone else presents; not even when we were little children. I've lived sixty-four years and I've received not a single birthday wish from her, let alone a present. She's changed so much – Hermione changes her; and you too, Dru. Having you has changed her life a lot, more than you'd ever know and more than she'd ever admit."

I never heard Aunt Andy speak like this about my mothers before. Yes, she often says that her sister is so in love with Mama and vice versa, but that's about it. It makes me wonder what kind of person Mother was before I was born – before she met Mama. I wonder how they'd first met; what circumstances made them fall for each other, for it doesn't take a genius to see that Mother is a lot older than Mama (although I'm just too ignorant to care about how many years gap there are between them).

One day I will ask them those questions. One day I will. But not now. Now I have an awfully hungry belly to fill.

"What's for breakfast?" I ask, changing the topic.

Aunt Andy blinks, as if she was just woken up from a trance. She glances down at me and grimaces at the sound of my belly rumbling. She smiles, a smile that reminds me a lot of Mother's. "Not burnt cake, that's for sure," she replies, taking my hand to lead me back to the dining hall.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I know that I've been focusing on Bellatrix's relationship with Druella rather than Bellatrix/Hermione and even Hermione and Druella. I'm biased because I love Bellatrix so very much. If this bothers you or you don't wish me to continue, please let me know. I won't be mad, promise :) **

**Thank you for reading *hands a box of red velvet cake for everyone – it's not burnt, I swear***


	4. Summer Lovin'

**Disclaimer: AJ is a free woman who plays with other people's food – what can I say? It's tempting ;)**

**A/N: Thank you for all the faves and follows and the reviews! To be honest I never thought anyone would read this story, really, and I basically posted it for my own entertainment. But I'm glad you enjoy the small glimpses so far. Thank you, darlings. **

**Again, this chapter is un-betaed. My brain is too proud to admit that I make mistakes, but my heart knows that I do lots and lots of grammatical mistakes and such (and I listen to my heart more than my brain). Therefore I will be forever obliged if you care enough to point out my mistakes. **

**Well then, sit properly – this is going to be a bumpy ride. Enjoy.**

* * *

It is unseasonably cool for a summer evening, today is; the temperature is low enough that Mother and I decide to find comfort in her room, letting the blazing fire radiate warmth into our cool skins while the two of us lounge on the four-poster bed.

We are waiting for Mama to come home from work. Somehow both my mothers think it necessary to find a side job during summer holiday, which I honestly find strange since we are more than affluent. They did tell me once that money is not what they are after – and I believe them even though I still don't understand. Both of them work for the Ministry every summer. Mother's work starts in the morning – she works with people called the Unspeakables and she never talks about what she does – but she spends her time mostly at home. Mama, on the other hand, spends her working time outside the house; she goes to work shortly after lunch and doesn't return until dinnertime. If I'm not mistaken, I think her work has something to do with magical creatures.

Anyway, it's nearing dinnertime now but there's no sign of Mama. Mother has gotten bored after the fourth time she beat me in chess so she decided that we should just stop. I sense that she is jittery this evening despite trying to hide it behind a mask of indifference and I wonder if she is waiting for something.

Still wearing her black dressing gown and her leather boots, Mother lies in bed, propping herself up on a pile of pillows with her legs tucked underneath her thighs. I'm sitting in front of her on the bed, my back leaning flush on her torso – the seams of her corset dig uncomfortably into my skin but I try to relax. I have my head resting on her chest, where I can hear her heart beating steadily against her ribcage and feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. Breathing in, I am enveloped by her scent, a unique mixture of spices and something that strangely reminds me of Mama. I smile and snuggle closer to her.

I know that I'm not supposed to compare Mother and Mama – but really, they are so different in many things that I can't resist. Take Mama for instance; she really loves talking. When I spend my time with her there is no doubt that half of it will be filled with small talks because we practically bring anything that comes into our mind into a discussion. If the topic is too heavy, she never downrightly tells me that I'm too young to understand – Mama always tries to explain it to me in a simpler way while not forcing me to understand either.

Mother is not much of a talker. She is more of an action person. Don't get me wrong; it doesn't mean that we don't talk or anything – we do. What I'm saying is that she doesn't talk as much as Mama does (which is a shame because I love her voice, too). Mother told me once that her mouth used to be quicker than her brain and that she did talk a lot and get into a lot of trouble with her mouth back when she was younger; I find it difficult to believe considering that she seems to count how many words come out of her mouth now. Sometimes I wish I was born earlier, when she was younger, so I could see the talkative version of her. (However, when I mentioned this to her she looked less than thrilled).

Like I said before, Mother is a little bit out of herself tonight. After her unsuccessful attempt to teach me how to do non verbal magic – I'm only twelve, give me a break, she decides that it's time for story.

I love it when she regales me with her tales. I never know whether she makes her stories up as she speaks or whether they are real tales written somewhere in a book. But that isn't important. I give her my full attention, listening to every single word that pours out from her mouth and memorise them by heart. I'm being spoilt by both the story and the sound of her velvety voice in my ears. Her hand is never idle when she tells her stories. Like now, she is busy flicking her crooked wand from which tip erupts various sparkling shapes – the shapes move, gliding slowly in the air and leaving trails of silvery glitters behind them before they vanish to give way to other new shapes. I can't decide which enthrals me more – the story or the magical illustration she draws for me.

Halfway through the story of Quentin the Cursed, we heard a soft click of the door handle being turned. Mother stops her movement when a moment later the wooden frame swings open and Mama steps into the room in her working robe. I can sense her body tenses under me, but I'm too happy to see my other mother to give it a second thought.

"Mama!" I beam. I wriggle out of Mother's arms and leap from the bed to give Mama a big hug. She grins happily when I wrap my arms around her frame; her robe feels cold against my skin.

"Hey, sweetie," she greets me. "Mmmm... you smell really nice," she adds, leaning down to kiss the top of my head, "How was your day?"

"It was alright, but I miss you," I answer truthfully.

She smiles and tightens her arms around me for a second before letting go. Then she looks up and sweeps the room with her brown eyes. The gaze stops at the bed, where Mother is still sprawling carelessly. Her soft brown eyes darken and gleam when they meet Mother's. "Hello there, stranger," Mama speaks in a husky voice.

There is a twitch on the corners of Mother's mouth as she gets up from the bed very slowly. She takes her time, smoothing an invisible wrinkle on her dress, before walking towards us in her usual calmness – so catlike. There's something in Mother's expression as she approaches that I can't really put my fingers on – what is it? Is it adoration? Love? Or something else – something that my young brain is just unable to fathom? The air feels to shift, hanging heavily around us for some reasons I can't comprehend. I watch as Mother walks so gracefully with a sway of her hips. She halts a couple of steps away from us, lifts her chin with a proud expression, and takes Mama's hand in hers.

"Come, pet," she invites softly as she draws her wife close. Mama complies and I see a hint of pink on her cheeks. Mother pulls her closer that their fronts flush against each other. Her lips hover just over Mama's as she begins, "Why, my pet is blushing like a bride." Mother glances at me and winks; I grin in return. Mama turns really red now as Mother continues teasing, "Whatever is the matter, pet? Don't you miss me? I've been waiting for you to come home."

"Bella..."

Mama's words are cut off for Mother doesn't give her the chance to finish. She closes the distance between them and captures Mama's pink lips with her own ruby red's. I'm close enough to hear Mama's soft gasp but it seems that Mother doesn't care at all.

It is a tender kiss – not a sloppy teenager's kiss that I sometimes see between the older kids in Hogwarts but a sweet, loving one that makes your heart swells when you see it.

Unlike other children who abhor any displays of affection that their parents show to each other (like the Potters' children: James always goes 'eww' and 'ugh' whenever he sees Uncle Harry kisses Aunt Ginny), I actually cherish them. Mother is not a touchy-feely person in front of others so I find it heart-warming to see how she shows her love for Mama so freely and vice versa. I guess I'm one of those lucky children whose parents love each other so much.

But still, I have my limits. It's one thing to see your parents exchange hugs and chaste kisses; it's another to see them actually snogging each other like there's no tomorrow. The two are kissing deeply now – Mother is cupping Mama's face with her hands and Mama's hand is tangled in Mother's dark curls. Obviously, they have forgotten that they have audience – one very underage audience who also happens to be their only daughter.

When Mama's hand slides to the side of Mother's left breast, I've had more than enough. I clear my throat, face red as a ripe tomato, announcing my presence, "Ahem – Madame and Mrs. Black, in case you forget, I'm still here."

The kiss breaks. Mama throws a fleeting look at me and giggles. "Oops!" she says.

"Then I suggest you do something about it, raven. Make your little wings useful and fly out of here," replies the dark woman breathlessly. Her lips are still on Mama's and she doesn't even look at me as she speaks.

Modesty – my mothers certainly don't have it; they may not even know what the word means. I roll my eyes at them but then obligingly step out of the room. The last thing I see before closing the door behind me is Mother pulling her wife to the bed, urging the taller woman to sit on her lap – they never break the kiss.

Oh well, I suppose it means that I'm going to have to dine alone tonight. Again. For the eighth times since we returned from Hogwarts. By the way, did I mention that today is the eighth day since the holiday started?

...

Later that night when I'm getting ready for bed, I hear a knock on my door. I tell them to come in and grin when I see Mama on the doorway. She is in her sleeping robe now, her skin glowing in the soft light from the fireplace.

"Where's Mother?" I query wonderingly because she never misses saying goodnight to me when she's home.

I think I see Mama blush at the question but I shrug it off – must be the light. "Asleep," she tells me, climbing my bed and lying next to me.

I lean close to her and a whiff of familiar scents fills my nostrils – it's Mama's vanilla and honey mixed with something that I recognise as Mother's own; I find it cute that their scents are on each other's skins. Oddly enough, the mixture creates a new scent that I always associate with serenity. "She isn't coming to say goodnight?"

"Oh, she was planning to, but she fell asleep and I don't have the heart to wake her up," Mama replies, "Can you do without her or do I have to wake her up?"

"No, let her sleep."

She nods, her brown hair bobs as she does so and it tickles me forehead. "Now, Dru, tell me – what did you do today?" she requests. See? Mama always wants to talk.

"Not much, really," I begin. My hand reaches out and fiddles with the sash of her robe. "I read half of the Second Year's Potion book I found in the study – I need to get my own, Mama, whoever wrote the side notes on that book was obviously demented; there are blotches of ink everywhere. Then after tea Mother taught me the proper way to make a spell to jinx others." I see Mama begin to speak so I cut her off before she can scold me, "Mother forbids me against using it without her permission; she says I've to let either you or her know if I create any spells. I see no points in that, honestly; why would she teach me something and then warns me against using the knowledge?"

Mama strokes my hair affectionately. "Because she loves you, Dru. Your mother and I always want you to know what we know – be able to do what we can do, but as your mothers we are also very selfish. We don't want you to get hurt in the process of learning. Knowledge is power, darling, it is a crucial thing to do something correctly. But it's not everything that is important – you also need to be mature enough, thoughtful enough to fully understand the consequences of your actions. You have to be able to put all the possible risks into the equation."

"I don't understand," I state openly.

"I don't expect you to – not immediately. But you will; I promise you that when you are older and more mature, you will understand what I mean," Mama answers, "Promise me you won't do anything you don't understand?" She smiles as I bob my head as a promise. "That's my little girl."

"She beat me on chess. Four times in a row," I change the subject, continuing my report, "She practically stripped me off my dignity." Mama chuckles at this. "Then she told me a story about Quentin the Cursed – and hey! She hasn't finished the story. Why don't you continue it for her?"

"Quentin the Cursed?" My mother frowns. "I've never heard of it," she admits, "Must be one of the older stories, I suppose – I'm not familiar with many of older Wizarding tales. Anyway, I thought you decided that you're too old for tales."

I shrug. "I like stories when Mother tells them," I admit; it is half the truth because I like listening to her voice better than the content of the stories themselves – not that the stories aren't interesting.

Mama feigns a hurt look. "Ouch! Seems that you favour her more than you favour me there, young lady."

"I don't," I quickly say in case she really means what she said. "I love you and her equally; you know that."

She tweaks my nose. "I'm just joking, kitten. Why do you always take things seriously – you really are Bella's daughter."

"I thought I was your daughter, too," I reply innocently.

"You very much are, darling."

I yawn. It's pretty late and I am very tired. But then something crosses my mind. Something that I've been wanting to ask for some time but keeps forgetting to do so. "Mama," I call out, waiting for her to look at me in the eyes. "I always wonder... have you always been in love with Mother?"

There's a moment of silence between us and I see something flash in the brown orbs of hers; something that I rarely see in her eyes but somehow the look sends a twinge of sadness to my heart. Suddenly I wish I didn't ask. Mama rubs her left forearm subconsciously and at that moment I want nothing more than to be able to take back my words.

"It's alright if you don't want to answer me, Mama. I'm sorry I make you sad," I try to amend myself.

"No, darling, it's alright." She shakes her head and smiles warmly. "I just didn't expect that question is all. There's no harm in asking – so don't stop asking me, or your Mother for that matter, questions just because you think that it will make either of us uncomfortable."

Mama shifts a little; she drapes her arm across my middle and pulls me closer. "Everything has a beginning, Druella – so does the story of your mother and me," she begins after another moment of silence, "To answer your question: no, I haven't always been in love with Bella. I think–.. I believe I can say that once, a lifetime ago, the last thing I wanted was to have anything to do with her."

"Why?"

"Because she was Bellatrix Black," she replies dreamily.

I don't get it. "She's still Bellatrix Black now," I point out matter-of-factly, "And you are now a Black, too."

"Yes, but she is not the person she used to be."

"What was she like then?"

I don't get my reply. "It's complicated," Mama continues, "Simply put, we had such a rocky start. And back then, even I wasn't the person that I am now."

"Then what happened?" I ask, refraining myself from asking what she was like before she fell in love with Mother.

"Oh, love happened, child," Mama says, laughing a little, "I guess somewhere along the way, I realised that Bellatrix Black was more than the things people associated her with; more than the image she so desperately wanted people to see. It's funny if I think back about it – that I still don't know how it first started. I don't know who changed first: was it me or her? All I know is that suddenly I realised that I have fallen in love with Bellatrix Black." She smiles at me. "It was difficult to accept that at first, honestly – for who would have thought? But once I fell, darling, I fell so hard and there was no turning back," she admits.

I watch as Mama's expression softens with the memory. Her answer is vague for she most probably thinks that I am not old enough to hear the full version of it, but somehow I can feel a genuine emotion behind it.

"And you know what, Druella? Even now I'm still falling. Every day, every time I see your mother I feel myself fall in love over and over again without a chance of getting up. But I won't have it otherwise – I don't want to get up; falling for Bella was – and still is – one of the best things that ever happened to me."

As I'm listening to her, I feel my eyes grow heavier. It's past my bedtime already and I am very sleepy. I don't want to sleep yet, though. I want her to tell me more of her and Mother. It's like listening to a fairy tale, but a tale that I know has a real happy ending.

Alas, I think my effort to suppress another yawn is futile as she suddenly stops talking. "You're half asleep," she remarks.

"I'm not," I counter.

"Yeah, right." Mama pulls the blanket and tucks it securely under my chin. "I'd like you to sleep anyway, child. We're having a picnic with your Aunt Andy and the Malfoys, remember? You need your rest." She kisses my forehead and climbs out of the bed. "Good night, Druella," she whispers.

"Mama," I call out to her again when she starts to leave. She turns around and watches me, waiting. "I'm glad you fell in love with Mother," I tell her.

"Yeah," she whispers, "So am I."

Mama has only walked a couple of steps when I close my eyes. I don't even hear her close the door for I'm already deep in slumber. That night, I dream about many colourful things and about two women who looked so much like my mothers falling in love.

* * *

**A/N: Err... so.. Chocolate cake, anyone? **

**Anyway, should I change the rating for this chapter? Or K+ is still enough?**


	5. The Ball

**Disclaimer: Only a pathetic repeat from the previous chapters.**

**A/N: Greetings Pure-Blood, Half-Blood, and all Muggle-Borns! I'm back again with some rambling on my part. As you may notice, when reading, this is actually a birthday fic that I intended to be finished on Hermione's birthday. Alas, dear lazy me wasn't able to write anything at all.**

**I'd love to thank my beta, Charlotte, who put up with the whole semi-colons that I seem like to use ;) Thanks a lot! And for my dearest, dearest friend Imperfectionisunderrated, who keeps on nagging and practically pushing me to write – loads of hugs and kisses for you!**

**Anyway, I'm sorry for the reviews that I haven't replied yet. I am still conflicted whether to squeeze the replies on the same page as my new chapter or if I have to send you PMs. But really, I am so grateful for every single review, fave, and follow from you. You're all amazing *hugs***

**Oh, to make it clear: this story is somewhat a continuation of Chapter 3, so Druella is ten years old here. **

**And I'm going to shut up now. Have a good ride, darlings.**

* * *

When one lives in Castle Black with Bellatrix Black as company, one becomes used to constant surprises. There is no telling of what is going on in my Mother's head – she changes her mind ever so often that it isn't uncommon to hear her say something and later see her do its exact opposite.

Take, for instance, her opinion about parties. Whenever somebody mentions that word in front of her, Mother's face will contort into a scowl that gives an impression of someone eating a very sour lemon or smelling something disgusting. She says that parties are a waste of time and money (although she makes sure I understand that the latter is never of our concern – we are the Blacks, for crying out loud! Money is never the problem!). Her dislike for parties is widely known among relatives – how not? She avoids social gatherings like a plague, always using my being alone at home as an excuse.

I once argued that parties are exciting; at least that's what I think since I really love seeing people in their fancy dresses, talking and laughing and dancing in their best moods – and not to mention the various delectable foods and drinks to try. Parties are heavenly in my book. But of course Mother always has to have the last word. She tells me that everything is a facade; people never actually have fun at parties, as the ladies are mostly too busy envying other women's dresses and accessories while the men are jealous of each other's achievements. Honestly, Mother can be a heavy rain on a parade when she wants to.

Anyway, since it's clear as crystal that she hates parties, it actually surprised both me and Mama when she announced that she was throwing Mama a birthday party while we were having our last breakfast together before Mama left for Hogwarts for the new school year.

...

"_Excuse me?" Mama sounded genuinely surprised – and she looked so; her fork stopped mid-way to her mouth._

_Mother raised an eyebrow and clicked her tongue impatiently. "I said," she repeated in a sour tone as if saying it again was a real physical pain, "we're having a ball for your birthday this year."_

"_A birthday party?" I interjected excitedly, for it had been quite a long time since we last had a ball in Castle Black aside from several kids' play-dates, "Yay!"_

"_Birthday _ball_, Druella," the dark witch corrected me – as if there was a difference! "Don't speak with your mouth full." _

_I rolled my eyes at her. Telling me to behave – Mother always did that when she was uncomfortable. And for the record, no, I didn't have anything in my mouth then; I had finished my breakfast._

"_Bella," Mama's voice was so soft when she called out her wife's name. Trying to draw the other woman's attention back to her, she reached out her hand and put it on top of Mother's, which was resting idly on the table. "Sweetheart, that is very sweet of you to think about throwing me a party."_

"_I'm not thinking it – I'm doing it," she grumbled, "And I think I hear a 'but' somewhere along the line."_

_Mama glanced at me very quickly before her brown eyes went back to fix on the dark woman. "I'm going to be at Hogwarts then, darling – I can't just leave."_

"_But you're always home for your birthday, Mom!" I couldn't help but protest, earning a glare from two pairs of eyes – Mama's because I wasn't on her side this time, and Mother's because I called her wife 'Mom' instead of the proper 'Mama'. I grinned apologetically at Mother – I was stuck with her for the rest of this year and I wanted to be on her good side._

"_That I am – but only for a couple of hours for dinner," Mama explained patiently, to both of us now. "A ball is a different matter. It will take hours, if not all night, and who is going to prepare for everything and then clean up afterwards? I can't take a day off – especially because I'm covering for you, too, Bella."_

"_We have elves."_

_The younger woman shook her head. "It still won't be wise. There are still too many things to do, things that we can't leave to the elves – and I'm not allowing you to overwork the elves!"_

_There was something flashing in Mother's eyes and I immediately thought _uh-oh_ and was going to excuse myself; I didn't want to be caught in the middle of an argument. Alas, I wasn't quick enough. _

"_Overworking the elves?!" Mother's voice was high, "What are you implying? Are you saying that I, Bellatrix Black, am incapable of preparing a ball without any help? Excuse me, but I am a Black – I know how to prepare one on very short notice, let alone having two and a half weeks!"_

"_That was not what I was saying, Bellatrix – don't you put words in my mouth," Mama warned her wife. I never liked it when she said Mother's full name with that kind of tone – it always meant trouble. "What I was trying to say before you drew your own conclusions is that it will be inconvenient to have a party when everyone is clearly very busy." She was sitting in an erect position and was very tense._

_They were glaring at each other in silence for some time neither one blinked. My skin tingled and I sensed magic in the air – great! They were using magic to argue; just what I needed. As soon as it began, though, it was over. The tingling sensation was gone and I saw the two women blink. _

"_There will be a ball whether you like it or not, Hermione. Period," said Mother firmly. _

"_It's my birthday! I don't want a ball!"_

"_It's a gift! I'm doing this for you!"_

"_Did it never occur to you that I might not want a ball for my birthday, Bellatrix?"_

_Mother stood up slowly; there was this air of arrogance and victory around her when she spoke, "Probably; but the invitations have been sent so there is nothing you can do to change it, Hermione Black – you are having a birthday ball." With that, she left the dining room, leaving a very upset Mama and a very uncomfortable me._

_Brown eyes met mine for a second before she decided that I wasn't my Mother's accomplice and whispered, "She doesn't even like parties!"_

...

Afterwards, there had been several close calls of Mother's cancelling the ball, but she always changed her mind at the very last minute because she'd rather endure the stupid ball than face Hermione's smug I-knew-it look – her words, not mine. And so here we are, eighteen days later, celebrating Mama's birthday with at least a hundred other people at our home.

The castle has been beautifully decorated and I can hardly recognise our ballroom because Mother has, by herself without any help from an elf, completely changed the look of it. The room that is usually dominated by dark colour is now very bright and merry – Mother changed the colour of the walls into soft pastel, what once used to be navy blue curtains are now very light beige with a golden hem, and the dark marble floor is now a shiny champagne colour. And on top of all that, Mother apparently enchanted the ceiling so that from it falls millions of sparkling tiny gold and silver stars, which disappear halfway to the ground. When Bellatrix Black decides to show off, she goes all the way.

Everyone is charmed by the transformation of the ballroom; the older guests who obviously had been invited to many Black balls back when my dear grandparents were alive are heard complimenting my parents for what they did to the ballroom, commenting that the old one was rather dark for a ballroom. Mama gracefully accepts the compliment but Mother flatly says that she's transforming it back to its old state after the ball is over, which, of course, makes the guests nervous.

For the first half an hour of the ball, I am genuinely excited to see people coming in their beautiful and colourful dresses – even some of the wizards are wearing lighter colours instead of the usual dark robes. Some of the witches are really beautiful and I can't help but look at them longer than I look at others, but in the end, even though I may be biased, I think my mothers are the most beautiful of them all.

Tonight Mama is wearing very close-fitting, fuchsia-coloured sleeveless dress, the hem of which reaches her knees. The dress is adorned with sequins, and whenever she moves, they reflect the candlelight and glitter softly. Mama pulls her hair up in a loose bun, leaving her neck and shoulders bare. As she doesn't like many accessories, the birthday lady is only wearing a simple white gold necklace around her neck, along with a matching bracelet.

Mother's dress matches her name, as usual. The dark velvety material hugs her frame snugly, enhancing the curves of her body. It's amazing how a woman of her age still looks very charming in the kind of dress which obviously shows more skin than it conceals. Mother's dress is sleeveless with a halter top that covers most of her front, but her back is pretty much bare as the back of the dress only covers from her buttocks down. And like I have mentioned before – when she shows off, she goes all the way. Even though her dress is so long that the hem grazes the floor, it has a long slit on one side that reaches her upper thigh. Mama nearly choked on her drink when Mother came downstairs just a couple of minutes before the guests arrived. I don't blame her, really, because Mother does look amazing tonight.

Now let's get back to the party. Our guests are standing in small groups of cliques and friends and they are talking animatedly with one another, glasses of drinks in one hand. Some couples are dancing merrily, seemingly unaware of others. It seems that everyone is enjoying themselves – well, almost everyone.

To be honest, I have never been to a ball before, let alone had one at my home. I frankly thought that it would be the experience of a lifetime – because I did enjoy the small parties at the Malfoys and the Potters. I was wrong. I never expected to see so many people in the castle, and even though there is plenty of space in the ballroom, I can't help but feel a little suffocated. More disappointingly, nobody brings their children with them – I don't know any of them, but who cares? – not even the Potters or the Weasleys even though their younger children are not at Hogwarts. The only company I have is Nephew Teddy Lupin, but after a while even he goes to entertain himself with people his age. Most of other guests ignore me after their initial polite acknowledgements of the little lady of the house, and those who do pay attention to me treat me like a baby. Besides, after more than an hour of looking up when talking to people, my neck has begun to hurt.

I decide to excuse myself from the party. I look for either of my mothers and find Mama in the middle of a group of people I don't know. She is listening attentively to some elderly wizard talking. When she catches my eyes, she winks at me and suddenly there's a soft voice speaking in my head, "I love you." She uses magic to communicate with me. I smile back and mouth the same words to her, but I decide not to bother her. Now, where is my Mother?

I find Mother standing alone outside on the balcony with her back to the ballroom. I guess I'm not the only one who doesn't enjoy the party. Carefully as not to startle her, I step out of the warmth of the ballroom to the cool night air on the balcony.

"What is it, kitten?" Mother speaks without turning around. She has this amazing knack for knowing that someone is behind her.

"Why are you out here, Mother?" I ask, as I walk to where she stands.

She wraps her hand around my shoulder and lets me lean on her side. "Why are _you_ out here?" she questions back.

"I'm bored," I admit truthfully. "The party is boring."

An amused chuckle leaves Mother's lips. "I thought you love parties?"

"I changed my mind." We stay in silence before I ask her my next question, "When will the party be over, Mother? Can't you ask them all to leave?"

The dark witch looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "And here I am, thinking that I'm the eccentric one in the family," she deadpans. "Don't be silly, child – the party is over when it is over. And it's only been an hour."

Before I can open my mouth to speak another word, a voice interrupts our conversation. "What are you two doing here?" We both turn around and see Mama standing at the balcony door with a hand on her hip.

"Ah, the birthday girl," Mother says calmly; her eyes twinkle as she looks at her wife.

"The birthday girl who has been abandoned by both her wife and daughter," she adds, walking towards us. "I've been looking for you, my love." That is addressed to Mother, I believe, since she gently brushes a strand of hair on Mother's forehead and leans in to kiss her cheek. "Have I told you that you look delicious in that dress?"

The older woman only replies with a smile, but she snakes her free arm around Mama's waist so that the three of us are now standing side by side. "You're supposed to be at the party, darling; people will be looking for the birthday lady."

Mama rolls her eyes. "I've done my role as a good hostess, Bellatrix – something that I can't say about you," she chastises. The brunette then tilts her head and eyes me carefully. "And you, young lady, what are you doing out here in the cold?"

"She's bored," Mother answers for me.

"Nonsense; Druella loves parties," responds Mama.

"She's my daughter," the older witch remarks as if it explains anything.

"Oh, don't you dare play the 'she's my daughter' card. She's mine as much as she is yours, Madame Black!"

"And she happens to be standing right here in front of you two!" I say in annoyance for being referred to as a third person. The two adults exchange a look then burst out laughing. Great, they always do that – uniting against me. "I wish I had a twin," I mumble out loud.

The laughter subsides as Mama asks me, "Now where did that come from?"

I shrug. "You always side with Mother on everything. I don't have anyone to side with – if I had a twin, it would be two against two," I explain matter-of-factly.

"That twisted logic certainly doesn't come from me," Mother interjects casually, earning her a protest from Mama saying that there is not a single drop of absurdity in herself, that anything weird that comes out of my mouth must be coming from Mother's side of the family. We fall into another comfortable silence afterwards.

"Say, can we tell the guests to leave now?" I am actually surprised to hear the words come from Mama.

Mother seems surprised, too, for she turns her head at her wife in an instant with an astounded expression on her face. "What?"

The younger witch slowly cocks her head, her brown eyes lock with dark ones. "I want to be alone with my family," she says solemnly. When Mother gives her a shake of her head, silently saying that she doesn't understand, Mama sighs, "It's my birthday and I've been surrounded by people the whole day and evening; I miss being with you." She pauses for a second and breaks her eye-contact with Mother to gaze at my dark eyes. "I miss being with the two of you. Alone."

Hearing this, I reach out my arms and hold her tightly, pressing my body flush to her front. Mother follows suit and soon I am sandwiched between the two of them.

"Let's go, then," the dark woman whispers in a husky tone.

"Where to?" asks Mama, hopeful.

"Some place where there are only the three of us."

"The ball..?" There is hesitation in the brunette's voice.

Mother shrugs indifferently. "I said I'd throw it – I didn't say anything about staying until the end."

"I'm going to regret this tomorrow," the Potions Mistress begins, "But right now I don't care. Let's go, Bella, before I change my mind."

...

We Apparate with a loud crack and the next second, we are no longer at Castle Black. I look around me and instantly recognise the place – we are in Black Manor in Luxembourg. It used to be called Lestrange Manor a long time ago, but some time before I was born Mother changed the name into Black Manor, which is better, in my opinion, because I don't recall having a relative named 'Lestrange' and it is rather peculiar to name it that.

Mother lights up the whole place with a light flick of her wrist. She is grinning and looks more relaxed than she has been the whole night. Leaving the party was obviously a great choice. "Who's hungry?" she poses. When she receives two eager yes-es from us, she calls out for one of our elves.

Spike, Mother's personal elf, shows up with a loud pop with enough food to feed an army. The old elf also delivers a personal message from Mistress Cissy that she is totally disappointed at both Mistress Bellatrix and Mistress Hermione and would they please return immediately before people start talking.

"She is still a Black by birth – let her host the party," says Mother firmly, waving a hand as a dismissal. The elf leaves us without delay, bowing before he disappears with another loud pop.

The food is delicious as always, even more so because we are not sitting properly at the table while eating it. Mama decides that she wants to eat in front of the fireplace so we bring our plates to the study and sit on the carpeted floor. When we're done, the food disappears – I suspect that Spike comes back to his mistress after delivering the message to Aunt Cissy – and we sprawl on the carpet in a very unladylike manner that would certainly make my dear youngest Aunt frown in disapproval.

I don't know how long we stay in peaceful silence before Mama states quietly, "I don't want to go back to Hogwarts tonight."

"Then don't," replies Mother as quietly.

"I have to," the other woman says regretfully.

"Not tonight – you don't." Mother lifts her hand and gently caresses her wife's cheek with a finger. "Don't leave us," she pleads, "Don't leave _me_."

"Oh, Bella..."

"_Please_?"

There is something in how Mother says the word that makes Mama's expression change. She cups Mother's face with her hands and pulls the older woman closer so that their faces are a breath apart from each other. "How can I ever say 'no' to you, love?"

"Even if I knew, I would never tell you," whispers Mother before closing the distance between them in a soft, slow kiss.

Clearly they think that I've already fallen asleep because they don't usually kiss like this when I'm around. I may be only ten, but I know that this is more than just a kiss between spouses and suddenly I feel out of place – I feel like a spy who is actually not entitled to see this. Right then, I feel my skin tingle. I frown at the magic that unexpectedly fills the air and decide that it's time to announce that I am not yet asleep. I clear my throat.

The kissing stops but the warm tingle on my skin doesn't leave until after a second later, when the two women turn their head to look at me. "You two need to get a room," I say, grinning.

"Later we will," Mother remarks, "but not before you do."

Mama rolls her eyes. "Bellatrix, she is a child!" she admonishes the other woman for speaking like that.

"Fine!" my Mother throws her hands in the air in a feign frustration, "You and Cissy are no fun to be with!"

I get up and brush the invisible dust from my new dress, which is now pretty wrinkled from lying on the floor. "I can take a hint, Mother," I grumble. I haven't even walked a step when the raven haired woman stops me.

"Where do you think you are going, Miss Black?"

I stop on my track, perplexed. "I thought you told me to go to bed."

"I didn't – not yet anyway. Come sit down, you grouchy child! We still haven't given your Mama my present," Mother commands, tugging at the hem of my dress till I sit on my haunches.

"Present?" Mama sounds more than surprised. "What present?"

Yes, what present? I wonder. She can't mean...

Mother doesn't leave us to wonder for too long, fortunately. She snaps her fingers and right in front of Mama appears a silver plate with a cake on it. There is nothing special about the cake – it's just a simple sponge cake that Aunt Andy usually makes me whenever I visit – nevertheless I can see tears pooling in Mama's brown eyes when Mother confesses shyly, "I baked it myself – without magic."

So _that_ was what she had been doing the whole afternoon after the first burnt cake incident!

The younger woman lets out a strangled sob when she throws her arms around the smaller frame in front of her, kissing Mother's face, whispering "I love you" over and over again at the embarrassed older woman.

We don't eat the cake in the end – it's proven to be quite inedible for it is hard as stone (but it's the thought that counts, really) – but Mama is extremely touched by Mother's effort to make her birthday memorable that she immediately sends an owl to the Headmistress of Hogwarts to ask for the next day off.

The last question I hear before I leave the two women in the study is Mama asking Mother the reason why she was so persistent on having a ball even though she doesn't like them.

"I was only saying it – but of course you and your big mouth had to say something about overworking the elves so I decided to really do it, only to annoy you."

"You are crazy, Bellatrix Black," Mother declares, "But I love you nonetheless."

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**A/N: I hope you enjoy the ride. And.. a galleon for your thought? Or maybe some chocolate cakes?**


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